


Sorken the Sergal

by Lunafan1k



Category: Furry (Fandom)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunafan1k/pseuds/Lunafan1k
Summary: A brief backstory of a sergal cuntboy I thought up the other day as a bit of writing practice.
Kudos: 2





	Sorken the Sergal

My name is Sorken, I don't have a family name to give people, so just Sorken will do. Actually I don't even have a first name to give either, I heard that word from someplace and liked the sound of it, now I just tell everyone that’s my name. It sure caused a bit of confusion at the registry though, makes me chuckle these days.

Regardless, my current situation isn't why I'm writing this. I was born a number of years ago out in the middle of a forest, far from any civilization. We were a tribe of Sergals, pack hunters and gatherers unaware of the outside world. Our fur is a shade between blue and gray, the long fur around our neck usually ended in bright colorful patterns. I myself have a lighter shade on my chest and stomach and darker on my lower arms and legs. The rest of me is a light faded blue, my fur highlights are a crisp orange, impossible for males. I was told this is due to recessive genes only found in females.

The males of our tribe were the hunters, the females were the gatherers, as well as the young or anyone unable to hunt. The females were also the ones who prepared the meals and tanned the hides, when not on a hunt the males tended to the village and made repairs when needed. I was relegated to gathering, be it fruits or berries or anything that needed to be gathered. My only other duty was to assist my mother in her tasks. I was not allowed near the other children, not allowed to hunt, not allowed to take part in our traditions, I was, what I later learned, a slave to my own people.

I was not whipped and beaten like how most view slavery, but it was slavery all the same. I was not a member of the tribe, I was less. My existence was only tolerated because I could work, and work was all I did. Growing up I was sad I could never play with the other children, my mother and father berated me for wanting such things and made it clear that I was not welcome among the others, and how much of a disappointment I am for existing. They said I was different, and that was enough for the others to hate and shun me.

In our tribe when you turn 15 you are considered an adult, and must go on a hunt alone if you are a male and return with a kill before sunrise the next day. The larger the kill the more respect garnered from the other hunters and the more attractive to the females you become. I was not allowed to participate. I am too weak to hunt, like that of a female. So I never became an adult, never given a rite of passage or any garments to display my adulthood, instead relegated to the same tattered loincloth I always had. New things were a waste on me.

When a female turns 15 they prepare for the spring celebration, where the females would dance around the bonfire with painting on them highlighting their beauty and fertility, their goal was to entice a male, though most do so for fun. I was not allowed to participate. My body is different, I've known that for years. I have the strength of a female, the scent of a female, but the body type of male, the voice of a male, yet lack the part that makes one a male. I do not have a penis and testicles, instead I have the slit of a vagina and the clitoral hood of our females. I am a mixture of both, an oddity in nature. I am much too like a male in appearance to attract a male wishing to mate, and my coloration and lack of male genitals is unattractive to the females of my tribe. 

The clitoral hood on females is just a few inches in length, mine however is over a foot long, another odd and freaky aspect of my body. I have learned that while loincloths are the traditional clothing until adulthood when the body starts to grow breasts or enlarged penis and testicles, my clitoral hood grew in length so much that it would dangle from under the cloth. This would not have been an issue but because I was denied my adulthood the tattered loincloth was all I was allowed to own. It was made clear to me that letting it dangle in sight was unacceptable as I was not an attractive female.

I was forced to figure out what to do to conceal it; while it was movable like my own tongue, keeping it held up out of view was taxing and straining. It chafes my thighs if I tuck it between my legs and doesn't stay in place well, tying it up with a rope around my waist gets sore quickly too. After a few days and threats of my parents cutting it off I participated in our tribe’s taboo. For a female to insert her own hood into her vagina or insert anything really, it was seen as deflowering yourself and rejecting your body, saying you did not wish to mate and bear children.

I didn't have a choice, late at night I laid down and curled my hood down, poking around until I found the entrance that rested there between my legs, I pushed it inside, biting my lip as parts of me were touched for the first time. My insides painfully stretched to accommodate, my hood was long and seemed to fill a void within me that reached deeper and deeper before eventually reaching the end and curling back on itself another half of the length before my hood was fully inserted into my pussy.

I stopped to pant a bit, both from the pain and new feelings of pleasure. I felt some wetness running down my leg, I wiped it with my hand and pulled away, expecting blood but it was instead a clear fluid, sticky strands connected my palm to my pussy, I didn't fully understand at the time as I wiped my hand on the grass and returned to my duties, my hood nestled deep inside I was no longer reprimanded for it dangling past my loincloth. 

Each day I worked and went about with my hood inside me felt better than the last, I began to idly wiggle my hood inside, the relaxing pleasure easing my stress through the day. I've also noticed that males became more easily aroused when around me, the aroma of my scent causing them to pitch tents under their clothing, causing them embarrassment in return. I took a bit of pleasure knowing that I was the one causing them discomfort.

It was summer, just a few months after the hood incident, when we were attacked by a rival tribe. I was not in the loop as it’s said about the tribe’s politics, so I was completely surprised when out of the darkness around our village a horde of purple highlighted warriors rushed into our people. I apparently was the only one not told the plan, standing there stupidly while my mother ran to safety with the women and my father rushed to kill the attackers. A stray arrow sank into my shoulder enough to stick and cause immense pain, snapping me out of it.

I turned in a random direction and ran for all I was worth, I ran until my heart nearly exploded and my muscles teared, screaming at me in pain as only the sounds of my harsh breath and pounding paws crushed grass and sticks alike in my mad dash. Even as my vision faded, I ran until I could run no more, my last sensation was being caught by a pair of strong arms as consciousness faded.

**Author's Note:**

> Want me to continue? Let me know!


End file.
